


before the fall

by clexastories



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Regency, F/F, F/M, pride and prejudice au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 16:31:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6336268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clexastories/pseuds/clexastories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The dance hall was practically silent as the three newcomers proceeded through the crowd of excited onlookers. Clarke figured out quickly that in addition to Mr. Bellamy Blake--who had rented out the Arkadia property that had too long been vacant, much to the pleasure of the scheming mothers of the county--the two ladies accompanying him were his sister Miss Octavia and his close friend, Miss Lexa Forrester. Bellamy and Octavia were smiling pleasantly enough, especially when Sir Kane greeted them at the opposite end of the room. Lexa, however, remained stoic, eyeing Clarke’s friends and neighbors with what appeared to be skepticism and even judgement. </p><p>“She owns more than half of Polishire,” Gina whispered in a conspiratorial tone, poking CLarke’s side as she continued to track the woman across the room. </p><p>“So she’s rich in addition to very pretty,” Anya drawled.</p><p>{ A Clexa AU based on Pride & Prejudice }</p>
            </blockquote>





	before the fall

**Author's Note:**

> Okay this is my first attempt at a long Clexa fic which spiraled out of control from an anon prompt, so please me gentle with me :)
> 
> Also, in case it isn't clear, Harper, Monroe, Gina, and Charlotte were all 'adopted' by the Griffins, so they're not Clarke's biological sisters, but still her sisters in a way so it would align with the P&P plot.
> 
> Title based on the phrase 'pride before the fall' and plot heavily based on the 2005 movie.

******_i._ **

The dance hall was practically silent as the three newcomers proceeded through the crowd of excited onlookers. Clarke figured out quickly that in addition to Mr. Bellamy Blake--who had rented out the Arkadia property that had too long been vacant, much to the pleasure of the scheming mothers of the county--the two ladies accompanying him were his sister Miss Octavia and his close friend, Miss Lexa Forrester. Bellamy and Octavia were smiling pleasantly enough, especially when Sir Kane greeted them at the opposite end of the room. Lexa, however, remained stoic, eyeing Clarke’s friends and neighbors with what appeared to be skepticism and even judgement.

“She owns more than half of Polishire,” Gina whispered in a conspiratorial tone, poking CLarke’s side as she continued to track the woman across the room.

“So she’s rich in addition to very pretty,” Anya drawled.

Clarke made a noise of feigned disinterest because she had _not_ been staring, really she hadn’t. To emphasize that, she raised a disapproving eyebrow when her friends responded by shaking their heads and smiling in disbelief.

“Just thought you should know,” Gina commented lightly.

“And I just think _you_ should know Mr. Blake is staring very intently at you and has been the entire time he was talking with Kane,” Clarke teased back, laughing at the blush that immediately appeared on her friend’s cheeks. Anya, who was the least romantic out of the three of them, snorted at their ridiculousness.

Gina’s blush only deepened when they were introduced to the three visitors. Clarke chatted happily with the Blakes, doing her duty to insert compliments about Gina into the conversation whenever possible. Not that Bellamy needed any help being smitten, she noticed with amusement, based on the way he didn’t seem to see anybody else other than Gina. Octavia was lively, spirited in a way Clarke appreciated, and also seemed to take to Anya’s dry wit well, a rare feat for most people. The only downside to the conversation was that Lexa didn’t say a word, didn’t even give a nod or a smile to indicate she was at least trying to participate. She just stood there, staring with admittedly stunning green eyes. Her honey-colored hair was twisted into a messy, braided arrangement that had Clarke wanting to push a curl or two back into place, just to see how the strands felt between her fingers. Still, Lexa didn’t open her mouth once, even when Clarke purposefully provoked her, and that fact stuck under skin long after they had parted ways.

The only time Clarke actually heard her speak that night was during a conversation that she accidentally overheard.

“Staying in the country might not be so bad, hm?” Bellamy commented to Lexa as they stood to the side of the room. Clarke was seated around the corner in the hall, catching her breath after an energetic dance with Harper and Monroe (her adopted sisters would dance all night if they were allowed). Bellamy and Lexa had no idea she was there, and she almost got up to move, but somehow, Lexa’s voice kept her anchored to her chair.

“Do you want me to pretend to actually believe that statement, or should I just come out and say that the only reason you’re so enchanted with the idea of staying in this decidedly rustic area is because of the pretty Ms. Martin?”

“You just said it anyways,” Bellamy replied dryly. “Why did you bother asking?”

“Because I live to make you uncomfortable.” Lexa’s voice finally had something of a tone to it; Clarke even dared to label it amused.

Bellamy chuckled. “And I live to return the favor. Speaking of, Ms. Martin isn’t the only pretty girl in this room. Ms. Griffin is quite handsome too.”

“I suppose.”

A small pulse of hot indignation bloomed in Clarke’s chest at how quickly Lexa’s tone dropped back to indifferent at those last two words. For a moment, she contemplated standing up right there and walking past them pointedly. The thought of not just hearing Lexa’s indifference but seeing it on her face too was more than she could handle, however, and she frowned at how much that possibility disturbed her. So instead she stayed seated, blood rushing in her ears too loud to hear the rest of their conversation.

They were long gone by the time she re-entered the raucous crowd in the overheated hall, and she immediately threw herself into another dance. Clarke used the quick pace and loud music to keep her distracted from the bothersome feeling of being overlooked by a woman whom she, for reasons she couldn’t articulate, had very much wanted to notice her.

* * *

 

_**ii.** _

As Clarke followed her family out to the front of the Arkadia property, she tried to stifle her sigh of relief, at least until they had left their hosts. Being cooped up with the Blakes and Lexa had been quite a lot to handle, especially with Lexa needling her about everything from her reading choices to her foreign language pronunciation to her political opinions the last few days. Still, it had comforted her to be near Gina while she recovered from her brief illness. Though Bellamy was just as good a caretaker as she had been, so really her presence hadn’t been necessary. Now that her mother and friends had come to collect Gina, they would both be leaving, and she did feel glad for that.

Even so, she couldn’t keep from glancing at Lexa out of the corner of her eye as Bellamy assisted her mother, Harper, Monroe, Charlotte, and then Gina into the carriage. The woman had hung back from the rest of the group, but as Clarke stepped up to the carriage, she heard the soft rustle of skirts approach. Suddenly delicate fingers and a thin palm were underneath her own steady hand, helping her into the carriage. Lexa’s skin was soft, warm against hers for a second, a moment, just one more breath, and then it was gone. Frozen on the edge of her seat, Clarke watched Lexa retreat hurriedly inside, her hair glinting in the bright afternoon sun and her hand--that very same hand she had touched--flexing by her side.

“Have a good time, Clarke?” Harper asked with a giggle and a pointed look in Lexa’s direction as well.

“Gina was the one who we should really be questioning. Most girls would just feign an illness, not commit to getting an actual one in order to spend so more time with a person they like,” Clarke diverted with a cheeky grin.

Gina reached over and smacked her knee. “I was _severely_ ill.”

“Oh, I know. Bellamy was so worried.”

The girls, even Gina, all laughed at Clarke’s teasing. The carriage rolled merrily along away from the estate, but as they reached the gate, Clarke looked back.

A figure, one all too familiar to Clarke, was standing on the balcony, still and tall and proud in the sunlight. Warmth spread through her chest, onto her cheeks, as she turned back around, determined not to think too hard about what it meant that Lexa was watching her leave.

* * *

 

_**iii.** _

The Blake ball had been lovely right up until she was cornered in the overheated hallway by the person she had been avoiding all night. Clarke felt her ribcage rebel against her corset painfully, but she knew the shortness of breath had nothing to do with the tightness of her stays. It had everything to do with the panic and dread rising inside her as Ontari continued speaking in her monotone voice, edging the conversation closer and closer to asking for a dance.

 _Or ordering her to dance was more likely_ , Clarke sighed internally. As the future inheritor of her father’s estate, Ontari had set out to make a match with one of Abby Griffin’s daughters, natural or adopoted. Being the closest in age--aside from Gina, whom was considered spoken for even if unofficially--Clarke had apparently drawn that short stick. Ontari’s entire stay with her family had been full of tense moments and cat-and-mouse games of seeking and avoidance. Now, though, in the flickering candlelight that glinted off the white, glass, and brass of Arkadia Hall, she had cornered Clarke, and it seemed there was no getting out of a dance. Lieutenant Finn, much to her disappointment, hadn’t shown up tonight at all despite promising to do so, so there would be no possibility of him swooping in to save her.

Just as Ontari, with a fierce stare, opened her mouth to no doubt ask the dreaded question of a dance, she was interrupted.

“I apologize, Miss Asgetta, but unfortunately, I am in need of Miss Griffin’s presence.”

Clarke just stared at Lexa who was dressed in a stunning forest-green gown and appeared unshakeable even as the formidable and abrasive Ontari frowned at her.

“For the dance you promised me,” Lexa prompted, glancing at Clarke with, of all things, a tiny smile dancing at the corners of her mouth.

“I am sorry. She is right,” Clarke said with a dip of her head towards Ontari, finally catching on.

Ontari looked like she was going to protest, but then Lexa held out her forearm, and Clarke immediately twined her gloved hand on top of hers. Soon enough she was whisking her away, spine straight as she regally slipped through the crowd. Clarke felt her cheeks flush as she inhaled Lexa’s perfume--something earthy but still heady--cursing the blooming pink of her skin as they turned to face each other on the dance floor.

As the music started with a hum of the violin strings, however, Clarke felt her stomach clench with wariness. Other than this moment, Lexa had only treated her and her friends with aloofness and haughtiness. That recollection must have been clear on her face because Lexa’s smile slipped away, suddenly replaced by her usual impassive mask.

They began the dance in tense wordlessness, their bodies swaying together and apart with their hands occasionally touching while they spun around to switch sides in the line.

“Should I start the conversation now, or do you want to have that honor?” Clarke finally said, half-teasing, half-criticizing as the dance picked up pace.

“So you talk while you dance,” Lexa observed, flatly enough that Clarke had to do a double-take to see if she was being purposefully obtuse.

There was a light in her eyes, but she wasn’t sure what it meant. They continued weaving and spinning around the other dancers, and Clarke decided to continue pushing forward. “You could comment on the music, or the large turnout, or the clothes.”

“Your clothes?”

“Whatever you felt interested you.”

Lexa’s hand tightened on hers, then slipped away in perfect timing with the music. “You don’t need me to tell you how lovely you look tonight. You already know that. It’s in the way you carry yourself.”

A mix of soft pleasure and pricked pride swirled in Clarke’s chest. The comment could have been a compliment, but there was a sharpness to it that made her veins flood with challenge and adrenaline. “And how do I carry myself?” she retorted shortly.

“You have an air of...elevation to you,” Lexa remarked, gaze locking on hers intensely as the melody swelled and they came within a breath of one another.

“Elevation,” Clarke breathed heatedly. “As if you don’t walk around like you’re a damn commander of the Empire’s forces?”

“Is that what you’ve seen yourself, or what you’ve heard from others?” Lexa said in a hard voice.

Clarke’s thoughts flashed to Lieutenant Finn’s accounts of Lexa and his connection with her family, and her skin prickled with anger thinking of his mistreatment at this woman’s hands. “I’ve heard enough, but I’ve seen it firsthand too. I make up my own mind, _elevated_ as it might seem to you,” she snapped.

Something like passion flickered across Lexa’s face, the intensity of the unidentifiable emotion taking Clarke aback. Her breath caught as curiosity got the better of her, and she started to speak, to ask Lexa just what that look had been, but then their lines retreated, the music stopped, and everyone else was bowing. The dance had concluded, and Clarke had no choice but to dip into a bow herself.

When she looked up, Lexa was just a flash of brown hair striding away through the silk- and jewel-clad crowd. Clenching her gloved hand into a fist, Clarke watched her go with gritted teeth, cursing the need to pursue that was coursing through her.

That was where Gina and Anya found her a few moments later, still staring at the spot where Lexa had disappeared even as the participants of the next dance set gathered around her. Her friends swept her off for drinking and chatting, and she played along the rest of the night to keep them from asking the questions that lurked behind their grins every time they made eye contact with her.

Lexa stayed away for the rest of the night, and as Clarke followed her friends into their carriage a few hours before dawn, she had to remind herself not to look back at the balcony this time, because she couldn’t tell if seeing Lexa there--or _not_ there--would unsettle her more.

* * *

 

_**iv.** _

With Gustus’ damning words still running through her head, Clarke sped from the church. She had to get away: from the people, from the revelation of a betrayal, from Lexa’s soft gaze, from the knowledge that green eyes and brown braids and witty words that had captivated her so easily during her stay at Indra’s estate belonged to the woman who had, _weeks_ ago, driven a wedge between Gina and Bellamy.

It was merely drizzling when she turned with quick footsteps onto the lane, but by the time she was crossing the bridge, her feet and the rain were pounding down in equal hurry and fury. Soaked through to the bone by the time she reached the stone gazebo, Clarke couldn’t feel the cold. The only sensation she could feel was the burning fury and regret in her gut that she had ever though Lexa Forrester a trustworthy companion, friend, maybe even someone _more_ \--

“Ms. Griffin.”

Clarke startled up from her position leaning against the damp, lichen-covered stone pillar when Lexa spoke. The woman was dripping, her usually sleek hair bedraggled and curling from the soaked-up moisture. She looked paler, almost nervous, like when she had stopped by Anya and Ontari’s house two days ago. She hadn’t said more than a few stilted pleasantries then, her words awkward and unsure in a way they never were around the dinner table at Lady Indra’s.

Clarke clenched her teeth together at the way Lexa rocked back and forth in front of her now, as if standing on a precipice and deciding whether or not she wanted to jump off.

“I can’t keep this to myself any longer,” she finally burst out, and Clarke froze at the fervor in her voice. It was still quiet but layered in a way she had never heard before. “I told myself I shouldn’t come here, that I was being weak, so weak. I know I shouldn’t have come here to the estate when I heard from Indra that you would be visiting Anya at her new home--”

She broke off, the slightest flush of pink rising on her cheeks at that admission, and the invisible band around Clarke’s neck only tightened, keeping her speechless.

“But I did, and I _can’t_ keep this to myself any longer. I’ve told myself we’re too different--where you come from, who your family is and who they associate with, all of these things keep us on such different planes. But I see who you could become, by my side, if I provided the opportunity. And so I want to provide that opportunity. I want you to be by my side. I love you, Clarke.”

Lexa’s breath hitched audibly, her own words a surprise to her.

“You--” Clarke started, then faltered, still in utter shock.

Lexa took a step closer, hands twisting her bonnet nervously. “Clarke?”

The rain poured down in a loud pattering around them, the noise blending in with the rushing of blood in her ears. Finally, Clarke croaked out, “You can’t be serious.”

Lexa looked immediately stricken, then sick, and then, in an instant, her expression shuttered. She lifted her chin, haughty once more. “You’re saying no.”

“To what?” Clarke laughed, but it was more of a gasping noise. “Was that a proposal? Because if so--”

“Not up to your standards?” Lexa snapped.

“Does that matter, since I, as who I am right now, apparently aren’t up to yours?” she hissed in response.

Lexa looked at her as if she was insane. “What are you talking about?”

“You apparently want me for who I _could_ be, not who I am, and I happen to like who I am at the moment very much, thank you. Why would I ever, _ever_ accept a proposal from someone who doesn’t feel the same?”

“That’s not what I--”

“And what do you know of love anyways? Nothing, as far as I can tell. I’ve heard love and weakness in the same phrase before. It was you who drafted that letter for Bellamy, the one he wrote to Gina, wasn’t it? ‘A match based on love is a weakness a person in my position cannot afford.’ You tore apart a perfectly happy couple out of some misplaced sense of--”

“I did nothing of the sort!”

“Tell me it wasn’t you then!” Clarke screamed as a clap of thunder echoed overhead. “Tell me my friend, the girl whom I consider a sister, wasn’t separated from the man she loves, and who loves her, because you couldn’t let someone close to you be happy without you!”

“She didn’t love him!” Lexa exploded back, lurching forward with her hands thrown up wildly. “She never said or did anything of the sort to indicate she wanted him, but your mother--oh your mother said _quite_ enough! Bellamy was being used by your family to step up in society, and I wasn’t going to sit by and let my friend be taken advantage of.”

“You have no idea how Gina felt because you didn’t make any effort to get to know her! If you had, you would know she’s just shy, and cautious; she loved him, still loves him, I can promise you that. But she’s heartbroken and that is because of you. _You_ did that to her--”

“Is everything that goes wrong in your life my fault?” Lexa hissed.

“Not everything in _my_ life. Though you seem to have a knack for leaving people’s lives in shambles.”

“You mean Finn.”

“He told me what you took from him. His rightful inheritance, his reputation in the county; you destroyed his life!”

“Is that what he told you? Oh yes, poor Lt. Collins. Such a sad story, but then again, you only heard one side of it, didn’t you?”

“Go ahead. Tell me the ‘other’ side,” Clarke dared her with a cry, flustered and shivering because of the cold rain and because of the sheer fierceness radiating off the woman only a breath away from her.

“Why would I?” Lexa hissed. “When you’ve already let your wounded pride blind you to anything other than carefully constructed falsehoods about me. Maybe I am as heartless as you think I am, but maybe, just maybe, _you_ are just too weak to be somebody who could stand by my side.”

“I’d gladly be weak instead of a self-absorbed, conceited, emotionless statue of a woman whom no one in the world would ever agree to marry.”

Clarke’s chest heaved as she waited for more righteous, venomous words to spill forth from Lexa’s lips. None came, and her mouth felt numb, her tongue heavy, and all she could do was follow Lexa’s hopeless eyes while her gaze flitted across her face, as if memorizing her features one last time.

“I apologize for taking up so much of your time. It won’t happen again,” Lexa said quietly--much more quietly than she expected--while backing away, but the words echoed in Clarke’s ears like the sound of a piercing wardrum as she walked out into the storm.

Watching her go, Clarke slowly realized her burning anger was gone, and she didn’t feel the chill from the rain either. She felt nothing, as if there was a only sucking black hole inside of her where her organs--her heart--used to be, and it frightened her more than she could comprehend.

* * *

 

_**v.** _

Clarke almost tripped getting out of the carriage because she was too preoccupied staring up at the enormous house. This was where Lexa lived--this stunning structure of stone and metal and glass surrounded by luscious woods that sprawled for acres.

“Good lord,” Wells muttered behind her as he climbed down as well.

Thelonious laughed at their very apparent shock, gently pushing them forward when they stood still. “I was told it has the biggest estate in the county. It seems the rumors live up to the truth for once.”

Clarke bit her lip as she followed her family’s closest friend into the house, Wells at her side. The uncontrollable urge to say something about the grandeur surrounding them filled her, but she wouldn’t even know where to begin. The striking cream marble and contrasting bronzed iron both shone in the sun--one lightly, one darkly--and she just stared and stared and stared as they moved through the foyer.

She was so busy gazing at the crystal chandeliers that sparkled brightly now and would no doubt glow splendidly in candlelight that she barely heard the butler greet them. It was only when footsteps began echoing through the foyer again that she realized her companions were leaving on a tour of the estate. Her skirts rustled as she hurried to catch up. Wells smirked at her when she fell into place beside them a bit breathless.

“Regretting your decision?”

“Yes, because one glimpse of wealth and I’m suddenly smitten.”

“Oh, you were smitten long ago. Let’s not pretend otherwise.”

Clarke scowled at him, and he ducked his head to hide his teasing grin. Apparently she hadn’t been as circumspect in her recent letters to him regarding Lexa as she had thought. In retaliation, she swung her hip into his. He swung his back, but they stopped bumping into each other when Thelonious sent them a kindly admonishing glance over his shoulder.

For the next half hour, Wells murmured under his breath to her, each word out of his mouth soaked in teasing joy. Her cheeks reddened as they passed through room after room. Despite the size of the house, she noticed how the decoration was always functional yet also unique. She could sense Lexa in every nook and cranny. The impressive swords on the walls and the elegant drapes, the natural feel to the spaces and the fresh scent of wax and wood were all her, through and through.

When they reached the portrait hall, her chest filled with anticipation. In awe she stared at the frames because it wasn’t just the Forrester family enshrined on the walls. Mixed in was a surprising collection of paintings that spanned the history of their nation, an oil-and-canvas chronicle of its storied past. Wells and Thelonious slowed their pace to take it all in, but Clarke kept walking. With the bald butler by the door, they had free reign to peruse the hall, and she took full advantage of it.

The one painting that stopped her in her tracks was the one she expected to have that effect, the one she had been looking for: a portrait of Lexa. Draped in a stunning red toga-style cloth, she was standing in a dark forest with her hair loose and flowing in curls over her shoulder, chin tipped regally and eyes piercing. It was a bold painting, a bit outrageous for someone of her standing in society. Immediately Clarke knew what she would have done differently, how she would’ve changed that stroke here or that hue there. Her hand came up, aimless, as if to outline the path her brush would take if she were holding one. She drew closer to the painting, and it stretched taller above her, more imposing but flatter all at the same time.

A sudden muffled commotion echoed through the panes of the long windows stretching along the other side of the room. Quickly, Clarke moved to look down into the courtyard below.

Two riders were circling around each other, and even from upstairs, Clarke could see mud and leaves tangled in the horses’ manes. The smaller horse carried the smaller rider, whose head of short blonde hair glinted in the sun. From the grace and ease of the other’s movement, she knew it was Lexa, even if the butler had not mentioned the lady of the house being in residence.

“This should be interesting,” Wells said over her shoulder.

She breathed slowly as he lingered at her side, craning his neck to get a look at Lexa. He whistled softly in appreciation, and she elbowed him in the side. He huffed but didn’t nudge her back, instead retreating respectfully.

Her stomach was already in enough knots without more friendly teasing, and she was sure he knew that. Wells had been the one to listen to her rage upon her return from Anya’s, to re-read a dozen times with her that letter Lexa had left with her after their argument in the rain. The letter, which had outlined exactly how years ago Finn--one of her estate’s neighbors--had threatened to kidnap and ransom her ward Aden if he wasn’t given a part of her parents’ inheritance. She had stopped him but had been forced to keep quiet about the incident to preserve her family’s connections with his influential relatives in Parliament.

That letter had shifted everything--every look, every touch, every word in her volatile history with both Lexa and Finn--but it wasn’t until now, when her heart flipped anxiously at watching Lexa stride inside the house, that she realized how drastic a shift it had been.

Sooner than she liked, she and her companions were back in the front hall, where Lexa smiled and laughed as she straightened Aden’s jacket.

“The house has visitors, miss,” Titus said as the woman and boy seemingly stayed in their own world, despite Clarke, Wells, and Thelonious approaching.

Titus cleared his throat again when Lexa and Aden continued playing, until finally she got a firm grip around the boy’s shoulders and swung him to face front, then looked up herself. Lexa froze as she registered them standing there. Slowly she straightened, the openness fading from her face. It didn’t fade completely, though, just shuttered a bit, her expression remaining light.

“Aden,” she said calmly. “This is Miss Clarke Griffin.”

Clarke curtsied, and when she raised her bowed head, she saw the boy grinning up at Lexa who was scowling at him in admonishment. Her chest clenched at the friendly picture, but she kept the curiosity off her face as the two settled back into a more proper picture of hostess and host.

“Allow me to introduce some family friends?” Clarke offered, gesturing to her side where Wells and Thelonious were bowing already. “Mr. Thelonious Jaha and his son, Mr. Wells Jaha. Close friends of my family.”

“A pleasure,” Lexa offered with a dip of her head, and Clarke let out a silent breath at the genuine tone behind her words. Lexa even managed a small smile, and suddenly Clarke wondered if her world wasn’t the only one that had flipped on its axis since that rainy, angry day.

From the way her voice went soft, and a little bit unsure, when she asked if they wanted to tour the outer grounds with her, Clarke didn’t just wonder. She knew.

The rest of the day she spent with Lexa. Wells and Theleonious trailed along but gave them space all the same. Their conversation was at first quiet and stilted, and Clarke resented the space--verbal, mental, physical--between them. The more they walked, however, the more relaxed Lexa became, soothed by familiar surroundings. Gradually her descriptions of the grounds slipped from formal lists and facts to warmhearted anecdotes about her upbringing here. Clarke loved the way her eyes lit up when she talked of her childhood, loved getting a small peek into Lexa’s private world.

At some point, her companions slipped away, and she didn’t notice until she and Lexa were lingering on a balcony overlooking the fields to the east.

Clarke sighed as she leaned on the stone railing, enjoying the fresh breeze teasing the strands of hair falling from her bun. “I don’t know why you ever leave this place,” she commented.

“Sometimes I don’t either,” Lexa offered quietly. She settled in beside Clarke, so very close, and her skin danced with energy at her proximity. “Aden hates it when I leave, but I have--”

“Responsibilities,” Clarke finished for her. “I know.”

“I never--I never asked for them, but they were always there, and I thought I would be older, more ready, when it was time for me when my parents di--to take over the estate.”

“You’re never ready for gaining something like that, not when it comes from loss. But you are--you’ve done well.”

Lexa glanced over at her, surprise and amusement dancing in her eyes. “I believe that was a compliment, Clarke.”

“Too much?” Clarke gave her a wry smile. “I can take it back, if you want. I know you don’t like--”

Lexa was the one to finish first this time. “Weakness?”

Shifting her glance away, Clarke wondered if this would lead them back to that rainy afternoon, or somewhere new.

“I was wrong.” Clarke couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, because apparently they weren’t going backwards. “I was wrong to say you were...weak.”

“It’s alri--”

“There is no weakness in your heart, Clarke.”

She turned to look at Lexa, who was staring back at her, green eyes vulnerable, wanting, true. It only took her a breath, and then she leaned it, hesitantly, to brush their lips together ever so slightly. Without pausing, Clarke leaned in too, catching Lexa’s jaw with her hands, coaxing her closer as the afternoon sun and the feel of her tongue sliding into her mouth made her cheeks bloom with soft heat.

She tasted like sun and earth, and Clarke chased her mouth even as she pulled away to catch her breath.

“Did one afternoon of seeing my estate really change the way you think about me that much?” Lexa murmured, a little teasing, a little curious.

“My mind was already changed,” Clarke answered, letting her hand drop to play with the loose curl that just brushed Lexa’s collarbone. “Long before I came here.”

Lexa’s smile was like the sun coming out, and finally, _finally_ , Clarke felt the stormclouds that had hovered over the two of them for much too long begin to disappear.

They stayed close the rest of the evening, enjoying a splendid dinner and stroll around the town with Wells and his father. Clarke debated bringing up the letter, and Finn, to Lexa, but there was never a right moment. She didn’t want that spectre ruining their newfound closeness, so she pushed down the urge, instead focusing on the way Lexa’s fingers brushed against her own, again and again, as they walked along the busy, bustling, lamplit streets.

Her silence was all for naught, however, because when they returned to the inn, there was a letter waiting for her, and just like the last time, parchment and ink once again turned Clarke’s world upside down.

“Charlotte’s been taken,” she said in a thick voice that filled their otherwise silent, tense private quarters once her first tears had dried. “She’s been taken for a ransom, by Lieutenant Collins.”

Thelonious sucked in a sharp breath, and Wells swore loudly, expression thunderous. They immediately started planning a solution, yelling for their bags to be packed and a carriage to be called. Clarke just stood numbly in the middle of their room. She couldn’t believe he had gone after her mother’s youngest charge; she still remembered the day they adopted Charlotte, a little girl terrified and angry at being alone but determined to survive that fear anyways. Her stomach rolled with regret. She could have stopped this, if only she hadn’t kept quiet about the letter, the other letter, Lexa’s letter--

Soft, firm hands cupped her jaw, forcing her to focus on sad but understanding green eyes. “Is there anything I can do?”

Clarke couldn’t think of that, of what Lexa could do. She could only think of what this would do to them both, and all she saw was the destruction of something she had barely gotten to savor. Once word of this incident got out, there would be little she could do to salvage her family’s reputation, a reputation that was already difficult for Lexa and her kind to swallow. This was her family, though, her people, and it was her duty to go to them, no matter the personal cost.

“No,” Clarke said with a teary smile. “No, I will fix it. They’re--mine to take care of.”

Lexa breathed out a resigned laugh. “Of course you will. That’s why I--that’s why you’re you.”

Then with one last longing look, she dropped her hands and turned, collecting her cloak and gloves with a smooth nod goodbye to them all before disappearing out the door.

The letter in Clarke’s hand crumpled as she squeezed it tightly, and it took Wells a long minute and firm, quiet words to get her to unclenched her fingers and relinquish the damning message, black words and yellowed paper that had yet again changed her life, this time for the worse.

* * *

 

**_vi._ **

It was a quiet afternoon except for the birds chirping outside the parlor window. Clarke’s mind was quiet as well, the turmoil from Charlotte’s kidnapping and then sudden return having faded with the monotony of her return to daily life in her family home. Harper and Monroe had done all they could to help their sister cope with what Finn had done since, but it had really been Wells’ assurance upon escorting her home that made that frightened look leave her eye to begin with.

Wells had written more frequently since then, though he never quite answered Clarke’s inquiries as to exactly _how_ the Jaha’s had paid Finn off as completely as she would like. They had the means, of course, and they would do anything to help such close family friends. Even so, something niggled at the back of Clarke’s mind about the entire affair.

“The paint has dried on your brush, I believe.”

Clarke jerked her head up from the little canvas propped up on the parlor table to look at Gina. She was smiling wryly at her from her place reclining on the couch, ankles crossed over the armrest and an open book in her lap.

Sighing, Clarke dabbed the brush in her right hand against her palette, finding that Gina was right. “I was distracted, I suppose.”

“You’ve been distracted a lot lately.”

“I suppose.”

Gina snorted lightly. “I can feel you tossing and turning all night, you know.”

Clarke shot her a careful glance. It was in the late hours that memories of almosts and haunting hopes of could-have-beens tormented her the most, and she couldn’t keep still once the thoughts started flowing in. “I’m...alright.”

Gina frowned. “Are you--”

“He’s here!”

Clarke and Gina both turned towards the door to see Harper bouncing up and down with sparkling eyes.

“Who’s here?” Monroe demanded from the floor, where she was helping Charlotte sketch out a map of the house’s grounds.

“Mr. Blake! He’s coming up the path now!”

Everyone except Harper froze. The floor squeaked under her feet as she continued to brim with energy and anticipation.

Then Gina asked hoarsely, hopefully, “Mr. Blake?”

Clarke launched up from her chair, her heart beating a mile a minute. For her sister, of course, because she would bet without a doubt he was here for her, but also because where Mr. Blake went, Lexa often followed.

 _She might not come_ , Clarke tried to reassure herself as she called the other girls into action to organize as much of the room as possible. _She might not_ \--

“Oh, his friend is here too,” Monroe added dismissively from where she was peering out the window instead of helping them straighten the furniture.

Clarke was too busy trying to make her hands, her head, her heart work again to notice the curious, then knowing, look Gina shot her. Soon enough she heard their housekeeper answering the door, though, and then she barely had time to seat herself at the table before three pairs of footsteps approached.

Her cheeks burned as she stood, all of them curtseying or bowing together as an awkward silence stretched over them. Lexa’s presence filled the room, and from the corner of her eye, she noticed how she hung back, head dipped to give deference to her friend. Whether she wanted them to lock gazes, she didn’t know. So, cheeks flaming even hotter, she stared hard at Bellamy, who only had eyes for Gina, the both of them stumbling over their words as Bellamy asked for a private audience with her.

With a reassuring squeeze to her sister’s hand, Clarke managed to usher the other girls out of the room while still managing to avoid making eye contact with Lexa.

Try as she might, she couldn’t get the girls to move beyond the hallway. They were keeping quiet as they eavesdropped, though, and Clarke decided to let them. Selfishly, she wanted to listen in to the probably proposal as well. Lexa was across the narrow way, calm and quiet as well. She still couldn’t look at her, so she watched the girls instead. Harper and Monroe kept their ears to the door and their eyes on each other, giggling and snorting the entire time. Charlotte was listening less closely, partly because she kept glancing over at Lexa. The more she glanced, the more Clarke realized their was a familiarity to the way Charlotte looked at her, a trusting recognition.

It was a reflex to follow Charlotte’s gaze, and when Lexa finally came into her view, she was smiling smally at Charlotte and giving her a friendly wink. Clarke heard the girl giggle, and Lexa’s smile softened.

Suddenly, she knew why Wells’ explanation about Charlotte’s return had bothered her, She knew why Lexa and Charlotte seemed familiar with each other. She knew that when Lexa had walked away to let her fix her family, she hadn’t walked away planning to leave her all on her own.

When Lexa finally met her stare, she leaned her head towards the end of the hall and turned. Lexa followed with soft footsteps, so close behind. She stayed close when Clarke faced her, lips parting even though she didn’t know where to start.

“I--I know,” she finally murmured, barely audible above even the hushed laughter of the girls at the door. “What you did for m--us.”

“I did it for you,” Lexa said firmly. “I want to be clear, Clarke. I did it for you.”

Her breath left her because there was too much gratitude and affection-- _love_ \--filling her instead that there wasn’t room for anything else. There wasn’t room for fear or pride, and so with empty lungs and a full heart, Clarke darted forward. WIth a hand catching Lexa’s jaw, she kissed her greedily, letting all the emotion pour out in the movement of her lips, her tongue, opening her mouth as Lexa leaned in for more, to give more. Clarke’s hand slipped to the base of her neck, and her hands came to grip her waist, fingers digging in possessively.

It was only the creak of the parlor door opening that broke them apart. Clarke breathed deeply, letting air in so as to fill the space left behind by the love she had finally, _finally_ let out into the open. Her own small smile grew as the similar one that graced Lexa’s face grew. With matched, quiet laughter, they turned to join their clammering friends. Bellamy had his arm around Gina’s shoulders, and she was leaning into his side, beaming. The three girls tugged and pulled on the pair’s limbs and clothing, shouting and demanding details of what they had missed out on.

With a happy cry of her own, Clarke threw herself into the celebratory melee, hugging Gina tightly and spinning her around before embracing Bellamy more calmly. She watched Lexa raise her eyebrows at Bellamy stoically, and him doing the same back, before they broke into smug grins and had a silent conversation only the two of them understood.

Soon enough Harper, Monroe, and Charlotte began towing the engaged couple down the hallway to find Jake and Abby to announce the good news. Clarke followed, but she slipped her hand into Lexa’s before moving forward, figuring her parents might as well hear her own happy news now as well.

Her heart swelled when Lexa squeezed her palm, thumb rubbing affectionate circles on the back of her hand.

Clarke smiled because she knew it was only the first time Lexa would hold her hand: in private, in public, in front of their friends and family, in front of strangers, in front of no one, in their home, in their bed, in all the remaining days of their lives.

So she squeezed back, then leaned over and kissed her again, just because she could.

“I love you,” Lexa murmured as the arrived outside her father’s study.

“I love you too,” Clarke said giddily in return before stepping forward into the sunlight room, Lexa right by her side.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on tumblr (clexastories)!


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